


between the shadow and the soul

by sweetie (Marnie)



Series: FFXV A/B/O AUs [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Children, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Noctis Lives, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pack Dynamics, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebuilding, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie/pseuds/sweetie
Summary: They have their children and a reasonably happy ending, but rebuilding takes effort, and old demons don't die easy.(loose sequel toas certain dark things are to be loved)





	1. Noctis I

**Author's Note:**

> just like the fic that comes before this, the title comes from pablo neruda's [sonnet xvii](http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/pablo_neruda/poems/15706)!
> 
> this is has only been edited by me, so i apologize for any mistakes! pleaes point them out if they're super horrible

The kingdom slowly finds its footing as the years pass, and Noctis begins sleeping in the pack’s shared bedroom less and less. He finds his rest on the road, or slumped in a chair somewhere about the castle and—most often—in his study.

The children have made a game of coming to find him—or, at least, Estelle has, with baby Calypso tottering behind her at top speed with no real regard to their destination. The two of them accost him with kisses and babbling and soft little hands. They wonder the Citadel for as long as they’re allowed, usually shadowed by one of the pack or an attendant, little feet echoing loudly in high walls.

It is no surprise to him that Estelle finds him shivering into his desk, freshly awakened from a nightmare. The windows, with their curtains drawn back from when it was still light outside, show that the sky has gone golden and purple from the sun dipping its great mass down beyond the horizon.

She’s worried in that sweet, frantic manner only children possess, curling her little hands around his arm and tugging, asking if he needs a hug or some kisses to make it better.

“I think that would help a lot, sweet girl,” he says, pulling his chair back. He helps her into his lap, regret surging in his chest at the high color of her cheeks. She’s a step away from crying, herself, he can tell.

She kisses his cheeks, and then his nose. She wipes tears from his face—startling him, as he didn’t know they were there—and then wraps her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

The urge to comfort his child tempers most of the old fear curling in Noctis’ chest. He pats Estelle’s back, crooning nonsense words of comfort as he rocks her back and forth. She has only just turned four. Noctis worries about the amount of empathy she has, at times.

The last dredges of his nightmare are pricking at his mind: a charming smile, a flash of light, a broken city. Five years later, and he still finds himself haunted by the ghost of the forgotten king. He shudders, and buries his face into the downy hair at the crown of Estelle’s head.

She still hasn’t lost the strangely sweet smell that lingered on her skin as a baby, but it has lightened a bit. The thought makes him a bit wistful, an emotion that only increases as he stands and folds her growing legs into the crook of his arm.

“Are you sad?” Estelle asks, peering up at him.

Her hands are playing in his hair, which has grown long enough to be annoying but not quite enough to warrant a trim. Soon her hands will stray to his ears, and then slide over his face. She does this with all her parents and especially her little sister.

“Sorry. Your silly old mom had work to do and forgot to get ready for bed, so the dark gave me a bad dream.” Not quite a lie, but still riddled with omissions.

“I can help!” She declares, earlier sadness apparently forgotten in exchange for this revelation. “I can sleep with you, so you don’t gets scared.”

Noctis laughs, tickled pink. She’ll have her turn running the kingdom in due time. He wonders if she will feel as enthusiastic about sleeping all over the castle when that time comes. He stands, and isn’t surprised to see Gladio lingering by the door to his office. There’s a furrow between his brows. It spells worry, and maybe a lecture.

“Hi, daddy!” Estelle trills.

Gladio’s worried expression softens as he greets her in turn, reaching out to tug on one of her pigtails. She giggles. Noctis hands her over, and when she is in Gladio’s strong arms, he lets out a dramatic groan and plays at dropping her, much to their daughter’s shrieking delight.

“Hi, daddy.” Noctis repeats.

Gladio rolls his eyes. “You’re a mess.”

They kiss, and Noctis is distinctly aware that his breath must smell stale. But they’ve been together for years, now—have slept and rose and fought and begun raising children together. It will be all right.

Gladio shifts Estelle to one arm and wraps the other around Noctis’ shoulders.

“Come back to bed, Your Majesty.” He says, warmly.

“Yeah,” Noctis murmurs, “okay.”

Prompto is steady asleep on their large bed. Ignis dozes against the headboard, the baby in his arms. His fingers are smoothing over the loose curls of her hair. It is a sweet sight, the dying sunlight hitting their little family at an angle through the curtains. Gladio maneuvers the yawning Estelle into Prompto’s space, and he pulls her close on instinct. Carrying Calypso had taken a lot out of him, considering his admittedly abysmal health during the years of the scourge, and he is still recovering. Noctis feels a pang of hopeless affection at the sight of the added softness of his cheeks. The feeling deepens with Ignis smiles in their general direction.

“You good?” Gladio asks, hand resting comfortingly at the small of Noctis’ back.

“Yeah,” he responds, “Just feeling a little weepy. I don’t know.”

His embarrassment rises with each word, but Gladio only pulls him onto the bed, gently guiding him to rest his face in the curve of Gladio’s neck, where his scent is the strongest. Rarely does he exert his status as the pack alpha, but the pheromones are well appreciated right now, with Noctis’ anxiety ebbing and flowing like the tide.

Ignis reaches out for him, hand searching for a scant moment before settling in his hair. Noctis drifts back to sleep, calm settling deep into his bones. They do not rise until the advent of midday.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes the nightmares don’t make sense, but they scare him anyway. He dreams of Kenny Crow chasing after the kids with a rusty chainsaw. He dreams of Ardyn being his father, cruel and distant. He dreams of the sun setting, never to rise again. He dreams of having no face. The most ridiculous one saw him roaming the countryside with wings that were apparently perfectly normal for the world, yet they would not work. He would approach townspeople who gave him some task or other to do, halfway on the other side of the continent, and it would take him years to finish them because his perfectly normal wings would not work.

Others, he can only remember in scant detail—bloodied bodies littered in parking lots, the Armiger swirling endlessly, someone’s smiling face.

The nightmares plague him no matter where he sleeps. Sometimes he awakens to sympathetic glances from packmate and servant alike, other times to one daughter’s frowning face.

 

* * *

 

 

Noctis wonders about Calypso, at times.

At eleven months old, she’s chatty and curious and affectionate. Amazingly enough, she has a head full of curly red hair and deep hazel eyes. She’s certainly Prompto’s biological daughter, this much is known from his pregnancy alone—but none of them can pinpoint who else is responsible for her. It takes concentration to see even her resemblance to Prompto. It is there, in the shape of her face and the curve of her smile, but is harder to catch than Estelle’s distinctly Amicita looks.

“Genetics are odd this way,” Ignis had explained, when asked for an explanation. “A rare set of traits, perhaps, their likelihood of presenting increased by occurring in both parents.”

(He wants nothing more than to be able to see their children, Noctis knows. He is still determined to find a way to make sure this happens.)

The world is still recovering from its scars, Lucis especially, so the complicated rules about blood ties in the royal line is moot. There is no council of high nobles to argue over it anymore. Any technology that would have confirmed Calypso’s sire is out of commission and difficult to recreate.

Still, Noctis thinks, as his daughter approaches him with a wordless request to be held—arms up, tip toes, entreaty in her eyes—it would be nice to know.

“Hey,” he says, “you’re cute. Hi. Where is your nanny.”

He gets a smile that spells mischief in reply, the same crooked half-smile Prompto would shoot at him over his shoulder when they were goofing around as teens. Noctis knows immediately that he’ll run into a panicked, tearful nanny in a few seconds, and that he’ll never quite learn how Calypso got free.

There are a lot of other things he would like to know—how exactly to help his kingdom recover from its decade-old scars, how to fix Prompto’s health, how to let Ignis see their children, how to completely restore Gladio’s smile, how he can sleep without fear curling in his heart. But uncertainty has always been a constant in his life. He is learning how to accept this. Baby steps.

 


	2. Prompto I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't hate this chapter but i'm not overly fond of it either. if nothing else i'm proud of myself for writing this much. the idea of chaptered fics has always intimidated me so i'm glad i'm actually making progress on this.
> 
> i love prompto but i find him incredibly hard to write for some reason. there are some flashbacky moments in this that i feel messes with the verb tense a bit? please let me know if it flows awkwardly--this was just in my general plans for the fic and i probs should have planned out how i wanted to tackle it. i'll try to fix it if it's too bad!
> 
> please enjoy!

Concrete rots.

Prompto remembers learning this with alarming clarity in those first few years of the Starscourge. Insomnia was all he had known before their first venture outside of the walls for that fateful trip. The countryside was the first time he’d ever even been exposed to cracks in roads, and roads left unpaved. He’d seen them in movies, and in photos, of course. Insomnia was wealthy and well taken care of, however, and the world outside of the walls had always been something of a fantasy to him, one he hadn’t truly cared about enough to seek out.

But it was during the years of the scourge that Prompto realized concrete can rot, well and truly--he’d seen black mold growing weblike on the sidewalk growing outside of his old home. Now that the sun has risen, grass and weeds grow in the spanning roads of the healing capital, and it drives the road crews mad with frustration—they have spent days spritzing homemade weed killer into wide cracks and scratching their heads about filling in the damage left behind with what limited resources they have.

As the four of them prepare to carry supplies into a ramshackle van, intending to travel outside the city and into bits of the countryside to survey the state of the ongoing relief efforts, Prompto wonders how the roads have changed.

“Are you sure you feel well enough for travel?” Ignis asks. “I wish you would stay behind and get some rest.”

Prompto gives a start at the sound of his voice. Ignis has always had a talent for masking himself, but the skill increased tenfold over the advent of the scourge. It had been necessary, especially considering his vulnerability in the earlier days.

“I’m feeling as well as I ever will, probably,” Prompto says, ruefully, accepting the arm that Ignis holds out for him, “I wish you guys would stop acting like I’m a baby. I’m not gonna, like, fall apart. Pinky promise, dude.”

“One can never make too many pinky promises.” Is Ignis’ smooth reply.

Still, he holds his cane between thumb and forefinger and offers Prompto a gloved pinky. Prompto links it with his own, squeezing tight and bobbing their joined hands once.

“I’m rolling my eyes at you.” Prompto informs him. He leans up to kiss Ignis’ scarred cheek, giggling when Ignis turns his head to catch his lips in a proper kiss.

With all their belongings loaded, they pile into the van chosen for their transport. This will be the first time the children leave the walls of the capital for the world at large, and while they are no more at risk on the open road than they would be in Insomnia, Noctis was worried enough to order a full convoy of the reformed Glaive to escort them on their trip. Ostensibly, it is so they can assist with any rebuilding efforts encountered on the road.

Noctis makes sure everyone is settled in before he starts the van. He pokes his head out of the window and gives a thumbs up to the Glaives in front and behind, and then they’re off. Citizens of Insomnia have all lined up outside of their houses to watch the royal family’s exit from the city. They wave, shouting goodbyes and well-wishes. It brings Prompto great joy to see kids in the crowds. Kids were by no means a rare occurrence when the world was dark, especially with birth control and suppressants alike running out a few years in, but it wasn’t common for them to survive early childhood. The world has been healing in many unexpected ways, but Prompto is pleased to see evidence of that in the people they are fighting to protect.

Their own children are content to babble with each other and share toys between them in the very back. Noctis had reluctantly agreed to drive, and Gladio sits up front to boss him about. Ignis sits with Prompto in the middle row, their hands linked. Ignis seems to have a second sense for who is feeling the most discontent at any given time, and he makes it a point to stick by whoever needs comfort, a silent shoulder to lean on.

“How’s it feel to be on the road again, Princess?” Gladio asks, yawning in that leonine way of his.

His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, strands of it flying about his temples and the nape of his neck. Prompto reaches forward and toys with one of those errant strands, and Gladio lets out a pleased rumble in response.

“It feels… I don’t know. I’m excited, I guess, it just feels weird to travel like this again.” Noctis replies.

“What feels different about this, babe? It’s not like you haven’t been on the road.” Prompto points out.

Noctis gives him a rueful smile in the rearview mirror. “I think it’s just—all four of us again? It’s making me miss the Regalia. And I’m kinda worried about the girls.”

He’s met with general murmurs of agreement for that.

“Estelle, you guys all good back there?” Prompto asks, glancing at them over his shoulder. Both pairs of eyes meet his, and it occurs to Prompto that though they don’t look much alike, he swears he can see something of a similarity in the shape of their eyes and the curve of their cheekbones.

“Yes, mommy!” Estelle says, bright as ever.

She waves a stuffed dragon at him, mock roaring, and Prompto makes the appropriately fearful noises as Calypso looks on, deeply amused by the display. He pinches her freckled cheeks and babbles loving nonsense at her.

Calypso’s grinning at him. Prompto calls this particular smile the Indulgent Kid Smile—the happy look that children give you when they haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re talking about, but they think you’ve hung the moon anyway, and they want you to know this even though you’re not making sense. Prompto is grateful that he’s been able to live long enough to know a love as pure as that.

Once he's sure they're secure, Prompto settles down, glances out of the window, and allows his mind to wander.

 

* * *

 

 

The first few years had been the toughest.

With much of the world’s wildlife being unable to cope with extreme predation in the form of daemons, finding food and other resources that could be salvaged from animal bodies was punishingly difficult. Bodies of water froze in patches and thawed in sporadic intervals, so a good amount of Prompto’s time was devoted to risky ice-fishing in the dark. They had retained their use of the Armiger, something that was both useful and a breathtaking reassurance that Noctis was still alive, wherever he was, so Prompto found a silence and became adept at listening for scampering feet and heavy breaths.

If you brought daemon-deterring lights on hunting excursions, you ran the risk of attracting other survivors. Dealing with other survivors was a roulette game. You might encounter someone cautiously willing to negotiate, and you might encounter predatory alphas and betas who were angry at their situation and eager to take advantage. More often than not, you’d meet someone who had no qualms about killing you outright. (Those were usually omegas who knew better.)

Prompto had met all three, in the early years, and he would never tell Noctis about it if he could help it. Noctis would be furious to learn that they had separated the way they did, reconvening only when their biological urges had their shared bond leading them to the same place like a beacon.

They kept in touch, at first, but over time the loss of a pack mate had been too difficult to bear.

Ignis had been despondent about Noctis’ disappearance in his own way. Prompto had never known him to be the type of person that let his emotions get the better of him, but he is far more observant than he lets on. It was in the subtle shake of Ignis’ hands whenever Noctis was mentioned, or his lapsing silences between snatches of conversation. He was as grateful for Gladio’s gruff affection as always, and smilingly indulged Prompto as much as possible. He always found solace in taking care of others, and this still hasn’t changed.

Gladio did what Gladio did best and shut down. It was almost as if he ran on autopilot, doing his best to hunt and provide and protect, but he refused to speak on his frustrations. The emotions would build until he exploded, spectacularly, either by going into a rut or leaving their little home at the Hammerhead in a rage.

So, the three of them drifted apart, never once doubting their love for one another, but giving themselves time to heal and become whole people without the glue that once held them together.

Prompto spent days travelling, often without food, in search of nothing in particular. He felt pleasantly unmoored in those days, and when he settled down, his thoughts would rush to the forefront and he would watch the roads and wonder if he’d be able to see decay taking them over.

He spent most of his off time with Cindy, pleased to have the company another omega. Occasionally Cor or Aranea would visit, bringing news or simple companionship. In those days, most people lived in Lestallum or traveled from outpost to outpost, sharing gear and goods and advice. Cor gave him updates on Iris and bring supplies. Aranea would speak of Niflheim, and its people, how they, too, had been mistreated under the rule of Iedolas Aldercapt.

Prompto remembers, strangely enough, feeling a sense of peace at learning about this. Even if he hadn’t been some facsimile of a person, he is still lucky to have been taken from the labs.

 

* * *

 

The kids know that they should go to Prompto if they want to be spoiled.

Prompto can’t help it—he’s always been something of a people pleaser, and this extends to tiny humans with cute smiles, especially if they’re _his_ , so of course the moment they stop at an outpost for a break, Estelle is begging him if they can explore.

“Yay or nay?” Prompto asks Gladio.

Noctis is speaking with the owner of the outpost, taking stock of what needs to be done to improve rebuilding efforts. Ignis, ever his advisor, is there to help him. They almost look young again, standing shoulder to shoulder in Lucian black, their hair flowing in the gentle breeze of the Duscae countryside.

“Stay close,” Gladio concedes, much to the excitement of their daughters, who immediately take off as fast as their little legs can carry them.

Prompto calls after them when they stray towards the road, and they immediately gravitate back towards the convoy, giggling and dipping between the feet of the gathered members of the Glaive, who watch them with no small amount of amusement.

Sometimes they return to present him and Gladio with little findings—a rock, or some other little trinket, and then take off again. Eyes are on them at all times. They are the heirs of a healing kingdom. Still, Prompto’s chest tightens with a strange kind of worry.

“I’m the cool mom.” Prompto tells Gladio.

Gladio huffs. “And where’d you get that idea?”

“I’m _mommy_. Noctis is just mom.”

“Literally what difference does that make?”

“It’s more sweet, big guy. You wouldn’t understand. You’re an Alpha. Your brain is a muscle, anyways.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Your _hair_ makes no sense.”

Some nearby members of the Glaive cough discreetly into their collars as Gladio gives Prompto a Look. His lips are quirking just the tiniest bit, though, so Prompto knows he’s forgiven.   
  
He likes making Gladio laugh. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to.

“Girls!” Noctis calls, his talk with the outpost leader complete.

Estelle takes Calypso’s hand and they scuttle over. Each parent is given a rock to coo over and hold, and then they load back into the van.

Onwards.

 

* * *

 

They make camp that first night at another outpost. They are given modest quarters, the girls are fed and put to bed, but they convene outside around a fire and eat a light

“I noticed this this looks like it’s fading, lately,” Noctis tells Prompto, reaching out to stroke the grayed lines on Prompto’s wrist.

“If only. I tried to burn it off once, you know?”

Noctis’ face shutters. Ignis, who has been leaning on Gladio’s side while nursing a cup of coffee, makes a discontented little hum in his throat and shift’s forward. Gladio squeezes his arm.

“It was, uh, after I fell of the train? When I was in Niflheim after—you know. That wasn’t the first time I tried to get rid of it, though—as a kid I didn’t really know what the heck it was for, just that it made me different. But it never worked. I hadn’t ever tried burning it off, though. Aranea chewed me out for it.”

“I’m sorry, Prompto.” Noctis murmurs.

“Don’t be. It’s all good. Hey, I’m alive and well now, aren’t I?” He laughs, hating that he ever brought it up in the first place, and hating himself for lying through his teeth.

He’s alive, but he wouldn’t ever say he’s doing well.

 

* * *

 

It was Aranea who confirmed the deeply rooted suspicion that something was wrong with him.

At first he had chalked it up to depression and a lack of proper nutrition, and while that most certainly played a part, there was no explain his difficulty sleeping, and the oppressive fatigue that overcame him at the worst of time.

“I thought I should show you this,” She had said, one day, after a long trek out to a nearby lake to fish for what they could find.

She’d looked none too pleased with the whole thing, and was constantly rubbing the back of her neck. Over the years he’d figured that it was a nervous habit, born of a lack of hair to play with. Most people kept their hair short during the Starscourge, to minimize the probability of any daemons grabbing onto vulnerable locks even when tied up. Aranea, ever practical, had been one of the first to cut off a sizeable portion of her own hair.

“Show me what?” Prompto had said, curiously glancing at the thick folder she presented to him.

“Working with the higher ups in Niflheim as often as I did, I—I learned a lot about what they were doing, behind the scenes. With daemons, MTs, and other military things. I found this report about MTs and I think you should read them.”

He’d spent hours poring over the reports, pausing to ask Aranea for clarification every now and then. A part of him was mad at her, for not telling him the truth all those years ago. She had obviously known what he was, and the documents stuffed into that folder were yellowed with age and wear.

She was all alpha calm, sternly ordering him to calm down whenever he became too frustrated with one thing or another, but he could see the frustration building slowly underneath her stalwart veneer. Niflheim had never been kind to its people, but it still must have been a harrowing thing to learn the extent that her government was willing to go to achieve its goals.

He learned several things in that day:

One, that he should never have lived to see age twenty.

Two, that it was unlikely that he would ever be able to carry children.

And three—that he was living on borrowed time.

He has managed to shirk two of these things. Sometimes he wakes up, feels the bone-deep ache in his body, and wonders.

* * *

 

Noctis jolts awakes from a nightmare in a cold sweat. Prompto has been watching him toss and turn and whimper for nearly half an hour, having learned the hard way that trying to wake him up might lead to being hit. He sleepily reaches out for Noctis who jolts and then takes his hand, linking their fingers together. His palm is wet and clammy, but comfortingly pulsing with life.

“What are you doing awake,” Noctis grounds out, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Oh, you know.” Prompto sighs.

It gets him the laugh he was hoping for, and a kiss.

Gladio and Ignis are sleeping peacefully on the other bed they’d been given in their quarters. It feels weird to sleep separate from them, even though dogpiling as they do tends to create an uncomfortable amount of heat in the warmer months. Prompto had been unable to maintain his rest.

“You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately,” Prompto yawns.

“Quirk of the job.” Noctis hums.

“Wanna check on the kids?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

They are huddled up in a kid sized bed with a decorative rail. Estelle is starfished on her stomach, a sprawl of growing limbs and wild wavy hair, tangled carelessly in the sheets and deeply asleep, as is her wont. Calypso is curled up on her side, blanket kicked towards her feet and tiny back arched as she lies with her cheek pressed into the mattress.

“You know,” Prompto begins, reaching down to remove Estelle’s finger from her mouth, “I was thinking that Calypso’s probably yours. Like, in the scientific way.”

Noctis, laughing at his wording, props his elbow on the bed’s guard rail. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s something in the eyes. They both have, like, the shape. You know? Like your mom’s.”

Noctis’ face softens at that, his deep blue eyes warm with affection. He leans in for a kiss, and Prompto snickers at the brush of stubble against his cheek as Noctis nuzzles into his face, and then the scent gland at the crook of his neck.

“You need to shave again.” Prompto hisses, accepting the scent marking with about as much grace as he can muster, which is none, because he’s always been ticklish.

“Do yours if you do mine, heathen.” Noctis shoots back.

They watch the kids for a bit longer. Prompto remembers, absently, that red hair runs in the Caelum bloodline.

 

 

* * *

 

The rest of their trip goes smoothly. The girls collect enough souveniers to keep them happy for years to come. They loved the beach the most, with its seashells and odd life.

Noctis has a thick report of things to be done in the coming months. The new Glaive, headed by Cor, have been given the chance to stretch their legs. Things are not perfect, but they are well.

When they return to Insomnia, Prompto decides that he wants to stay rooted. There is old hurt on the road, bad memories lurking in the cracks lining the blacktop. Ignis seems pleased, when he shares this sentiment over dinner.

"You've earned your rest, love." Ignis tells him, soothingly.

"Yeah," Prompto says, "I think I have."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! don't read end notes before finishing a chapter, you might find spoilers. not this time though! hehe
> 
> as always this has only been edited by me so any glaring mistakes are My Fault
> 
> next chapter is ignis' pov and lends the story its explicit rating. please leave me your thoughts!!! im live for feedback

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on break (finally, oh my god) so updates should be semi-regular, but i can't promise a definate schedule of updates. i will be studying abroad next semester, so i'm trying to get my life together before i go! 
> 
> please consider sticking around and telling me what you think! i live for feedback, it motivates me


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